


The Violin

by Sworn11



Series: The Holmes Boys [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mycroft-centric, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5650912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sworn11/pseuds/Sworn11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teaching John to play the violin was something Sherlock had never pictured himself doing.   Through the process he can't help remembering when he himself learned to play and about where his violin came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Violin

Teaching John to play the violin was something Sherlock had never pictured himself doing. Nor had he ever envisioned that he and John could ever become more then friends and colleagues. But here they were in the living room of 221B Baker Street. Sherlocks hands on Johns waist and under his arm positioning him so he could properly hold the instrument. Johns fingers trembling on the bow when Sherlock leant forwards, indulgently placing kisses on the temptingly bare neck in front of him. A small chuckle resonating in his chest when John whispered often and harshly that it was unfair of Sherlock to tease him like that while he tried to concentrate. 

The first screeching notes brought back memories of Sherlocks own musical debut. Learning to play during that month in the summer spent with Mycroft. His older brother had declared one evening that Sherlock needed a hobby, or at least a hobby that didn’t involve blowing things up or drowning pond frogs in acid. Sherlock had been reluctant at first. But when Mycroft had started to play all resistance left him. He had been completely taken in by the music. The complex melody his brother had woven drew him in like a moth to the flame. Most of all the look on Mycrofts face. A look of absolute focus. Eyes closed, peaceful smile on his lips. Sherlock wanted that, no needed it. It looked like while Mycroft was wrapped in the music the world could just fade away. Sherlock longed for such a focus. 

Sherlock had refused to choose any other instrument. He wanted that violin. He had been able to tell that Mycroft had been exceptionally pleased with his choice. For some reason he’d found himself almost happy to be able to make his brother proud. Father had never been proud of him and Mummy, well, Mummy was proud of him in her own way he supposed. But Mycrofts look of pure pride when Sherlock had told him he wanted to play the violin had made him exceedingly pleased. 

It had been difficult at first. He’d had problems much as John had, finding trouble reading the notes as well as getting the correct fingering and bow movement. Leaning the notes for Sherlock had been easy. The composition opportunities endless and fascinating. By the end of the month he had composed a small solo for Mycroft. One he had never had the chance to present to his brother. Over the years he had worked on, improved and lengthened his childhood compositions but none were as meaningful to him then the piece for his brother. It had been a shock to him when Mycroft had left them at the end of the month so abruptly. He had just begun to feel like he had a proper brother to look up to and who understood him. But their father had died and Mycroft had been sent away to continue the mans work. By the time Mycroft had come back to visit a year later Sherlock had already embraced his self declared sociopathy as a way of protecting himself and he felt the time to present the song had passed. 

Mycroft was a very patient teacher and also a very good one. It was possible Mycroft had been such a good teacher because they were so similar. Sherlock now if anyone asked would say he hated the idea that he and his brother had anything in common but when he’d been younger it had almost made him happy. He and Mycroft being similar had made Sherlock feel less alone.   Sherlock couldn’t imagine teaching anyone other than John. He wanted to share everything with this man. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Mycroft had felt when Sherlock had managed his first proper sound from the violin? Had Mycroft felt this proud of him when he’d been able to play through a song with no faults? Would Mycroft be proud of him now? Proud of Sherlocks profession, proud he had managed to maintain a relationship with John? Would Mycroft be happy his lessons were being passed on?

He recalled how Mycroft had placed his arms and legs properly and taught him how to hold the instrument. Sherlock had been stunned when Mycroft had presented him with his personal violin. Normally Mycroft hated when Sherlock touched his things but that day Mycroft had willingly placed his violin in Sherlocks hands. Sherlock remembered the feeling of awe at this gesture. And when Mycroft had left them for his new position within the government he had left his violin behind for Sherlock. That had been the first and last time Sherlock could ever remember crying in his youth. The weeks of desperation for drugs during his rehab did not count, nor did the fake tears he shed during investigations for the sake of the case. His only true tears had come on that night. Finding the violin on his bed, knowing he and Mycroft would never be the same again. His six year old self unused to such emotions brushing at his cheeks not knowing why he was crying. 

John's musical talents were improving quickly. But Sherlock as a child had excelled with his musicianship. Countless hours spent playing or listening to Mycroft play. Nights spent being taught composition, directing and music theory. He had learned a lot about his brother while being taught and watching him play. 

It was nice that John was a quick learner. Sherlock could run his lessons in the same way Mycroft had only at a slower pace to cater to Johns needs. On lesson days he found himself missing his brother. In three months John was quite proficient. He would start teaching John the art of composition next. That week Sherlock spent drawing charts and looking out his own compositions. Shuffling through boxes of hand written music sheets in his own writing as well as Mycrofts. One of the pieces found was his now 5 page solo titled My brother Mycroft Holmes. The original single page composition attached to the back of the final page. 

He wasn’t quite sure why but he showed the piece to John and told him every detail he could remember about that month. John had been supporting and loving, as always, when Sherlock became slightly emotional. He only did so with John, showing what he truly felt was still so new to him. John had insisted he play the piece for him and had become glassy eyed watching him play. The adoration seeping from him making Sherlock feel warm and loved. 

Another three months and John had written him a song. The feelings this song triggered were so overwhelming. The song itself was not perfect but the fact that John had composed it for him had made his heart clench knowing truly what John felt about him in that moment. He decided then that it was time. He recorded the composition for his brother, feeling almost nervous as he packaged the written pieces and cd to send.

The following week Sherlock came home to the sound of his violin. He thought at first it was John playing but knew his partner was not that skilled yet and still at the surgery. The notes of this melody drifting down to him so familiar. A song he had heard once before. His favorite of Mycroft’s own compositions. Taking the stairs two at a time in his haste he paused at the doorway and watched his brother play. The look of peace and rapture in place. The notes died down slowly and Mycroft turned finishing the solo. 

The answer to his questions was revealed by the smile on his brothers face. That smile, so proud. An answering smile broke out across Sherlocks face, for now knew who this favorite composition had been written for.  


End file.
